The all night vigil beings tonight. This isn’t going to be easy but the choice is clear: light the lights, crank the music, sleep standing on a chair….or move.
That’s it. No other choice.
I don’t do mice. I don’t even do a mouse. Cannot handle the thought let alone any physical evidence. OK. I can deny teeny bits of evidence by calling them crumbs of dirt from someone’s shoe, but a sighting? An actual sighting means 9-1-1 or, at the least, Two Men And A Truck.
It happened at 5:30 AM this day. IT, startled by the light, did the scurry thing and darted behind the cabinet. Not cute like Runaway Ralph or talented like The Mouse And The Motorcycle, this IT was 1/2 ounce of menace armed with all the weapons designed to cause panic–my panic.
For weeks, I have known. Cold weather in a rural setting means that outdoor critters seek warmth. For days, I have joked with family that I cannot do mice…that none of their suggestions were adequate…that Bob spoiled me by handling mouse patrol…that traps were out of the question because I don’t touch traps…that it was purely a logical choice: Mice In, Me Out.
The vigil begins.